


The Wonderful Life

by busaikko



Series: on the radio [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Amputation, Community: sga_kinkmeme, F/M, M/M, Multi, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no way home, except to make home where you are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wonderful Life

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Mific, but due to this-and-that any mistakes are definitely my fault.

> We fell in love knowing the pain it would bring  
> Now all I do is sing sad songs with red eyes  
> Throw your arms around me  
> Let's keep this quiet  
> Hear our hearts in the distance like cannon fire  
> See our breath in the window, in the turning light  
> Oh, it's a wonderful life  
> The Felice Brothers – It's a Wonderful Life  
> 

The mission goes bad fast. Rodney blames the SGC for only sending just the team and one Atlantean puddlejumper because it was _theoretically_ an easy job -- _a cake walk_ , Woolsey said. All they need to do is reactivate a planetary shield disabled by the Ori, on a planet the Ancients had hidden so carefully no one ever knew it was there. But the Lucians must have received the same intel, because one of their ships drops out of hyperspace not even half an hour after Rodney starts swearing over broken crystals. John leaves his team at the Ancient outpost, trusting Rodney to get things running while John takes care of the Lucians.

Usually they beat the clock and are home in time for dinner. This time they aren't.

Rodney's still shoulder-deep in crystals, wires, and burned-out parts when the Lucian ship starts falling into the atmosphere. Ronon and Teyla watch from the outpost's entranceway, an ominous shadow growing to swallow up the houses and fields below. The ship is obviously too damaged to pull up -- John's work, Ronon thinks, and he's glad and furious at the same time. Breaking free from paralyzed disbelief, Teyla jerks Ronon in, closing the door and shouting at Rodney to get clear of anything that can break. The ship impacts the ground with a noise like rolling thunder, and the whole structure shudders, tools and crystals dancing off the worktop and falling to the floor.

They wait. Rodney tries every five minutes to hail John on the radio. There's no answer. The silence is strangling and dark. Finally Teyla says, "We have to look," and opens the door.

The green valley is burning, scarred with impact craters; one of the low mountains on the horizon has been sheared in half. The sky is smoke-filled, the land is burning, and the air thrums with the sound of primative aircraft as they drop water on the devastation.

"Locals," Rodney says dismissively as Teyla points out the aircraft. "Biplanes at best."

Not a jumper, even though they wait.

"Where is John?" Teyla asks finally, as the sun is going down. Ronon doesn't say anything. He doesn't know.

"I don't know," McKay says, aggrieved, never one to not say the obvious. He's working with the scanning programs on his computer; he finally got the planetary shield online half an hour after the attack. Ronon suspects he's using busywork to keep his mind from succumbing to terror. "He doesn't answer his radio, but it could be interference, or radiation, or if he was too far away when the planet went out of phase, he could be up there in normal phase, except the gate's in _this_ phase, so who knows how long he'll just... drift. Or if he was in the wrong place, which would be just like him, he was ripped to tiny pieces --"

"Can we contact the SGC?" Teyla interrupts. She says the name like it's foul-tasting. Ronon's glad that she's centering her anger there, on the people who sent them on this mission, and not on. . . .

Ronon doesn't want to finish that sentence, but Rodney does it for him.

"John's tracker is gone," McKay says, and he looks wrung-out with horror. "He's missing, the jumper is missing. We can't contact anyone without a DHD, and it's a space gate, so we are, we have to," he gulps in a deep breath, "find Sheppard."

"No," Ronon says, and crosses his arms. He's between McKay and Teyla and the door. "Sheppard told me and Teyla to take care of you. And," he adds, loud enough to cut McKay's protest off, "we're fucked without you." McKay reacts to the explicative as if Ronon had slapped him, eyes going wide.

"John could be hurt," Teyla says. She still sounds angry.

"This is a big planet," Ronon says. "We can't search as fast as the locals. We need to make sure we blend in before we move out. Look like we're not enemy soldiers. Or monks."

McKay crosses his arms unhappily. "With the phase-shield to keep everyone out and technology too crappy to make use of the space gate, they probably never met anyone until the Ori, who didn't exactly show up with casseroles and goodwill."

"Do they have internet?" Teyla asks, sharply. "Or any kind of information-distribution system?"

"I really doubt it," McKay says, scorn dripping from his words. Teyla glares until he's persuaded to look. Thirty minutes later, McKay manages to tune in a kind of television broadcast on one of the Ancient monitors. Teyla says _Ha_ and looks vindicated.

The exploding spaceship and devastation has top billing. The panels of experts in the studios have dumb theories. Government conspiracy, underground gas explosion, vengeance of the gods. One man insists that this was predicted in the _Gald legends_ and talks about the staff-bearers; he's treated like the worst idiot of the lot.

"Meet the local Daniel Jackson," McKay says, using paper and pen to scribble down the symbols at the side of the screen that they assume indicate the man's name and affiliation. "Apparently, the Goa'uld broke in at some point in history, before the Ori. Whatever the Ancients hid here seems to attract all the wrong sorts," he adds, and shrugs awkwardly. "Sadly, the FAQ is a recent invention."

"You'll need to grow a beard," Ronon says. He's been watching the monitor. All the men on all the programs have them. He figures it's a sign of distinction. "When it's full dark I'll go get some clothes and stuff."

"I'm not wearing a skirt," McKay says, pointing at screen, where a dirty train of refugees is stumbling out of the disaster zone in grainy, soundless video that jumps and shudders as if the ground were still trembling. The men wear a strip of fabric wrapped over a blouse, the hem falling to their knees. The women have long blouses over knee-length short trousers, with knitted over-vests. Ronon makes mental notes of what people of different ages wear, what stands out in the crowds and what doesn't.

Teyla puts a hand to her head. "My hair is too long."

"Yeah," Ronon says. "I can fix that for you."

He cuts her hair to chin length and then his own, sitting outside on the slope overlooking the smoking craters, the fires, the wheeled vehicles working to clear evacuation roads. There's some kind of smaller shield around the outpost that Rodney's powered up that keeps people from finding it, even though the whole place is underground and looks from the outside like a small hill covered in weeds and poor soil. Ronon feels like a voyeur, like the whole world in front of him's a television show, but the hot, terrible wind from the fires sweeps through the outpost shield and carries their cut hair away. Back on Sateda it was bad luck to cut hair after dark. He knows Teyla's people burn hair as part of their prayers for the dead. Ronon hasn't cut his hair in years, and his chest hurts.

"I'm going down to that village," Ronon tells Teyla, pointing a cluster of mostly-intact houses beyond a hillock. "Looks like it's been evacuated, bet people left a lot behind. Too early for them to be looking for looters, they're still carrying out bodies." He squints, gauging distance. "Hour to get there, in and out in fifteen, hour coming back. You need to stay with McKay."

"You're not the team leader when John's. . . not here," Teyla says, her voice level, commanding.

Ronon nods. He prefers taking orders anyway. If they're good orders. "John would have wanted...."

"I have not slept one night without my son since he was born," Teyla interrupts smoothly. She shrugs and pushes to her feet without meeting Ronon's eyes. "Let's not mourn John until we have reason."

Ronon thinks the smoking craters are reason enough, but he doesn't argue. And Teyla doesn't tell him not to go.

The utter destruction reminds him of too many planets he Ran to, and from. In their panic, the villagers left everything: meals on the table, shoes inside the front door, books on desks in the schoolhouse, baskets of food thrown to the ground in the marketplace, animals bellowing with hunger and full udders. There are chunks of still-hot metal stabbed into the ground, and bodies. Ronon doesn't blame the people for taking flight. He figures they'll be back when the terror wears off.

He collects preserved meat and vegetables, textbooks, shabby clothing and shoes, towels, local knives, and a boxy device that he thinks is a radio receiver that runs on a crank.

The Ancient outpost, McKay tells Ronon when he gets back, started sending a call for maintenance when it detected Atlantis reentering the galaxy. McKay says he can maybe turn the mechanism on again to call for help; Teyla says it's obviously too dangerous. They are in Lucian Alliance territory, but they have Ancient technology. She thinks Rodney can build a DHD, and Ronon can see on Rodney's face that he doesn't quite believe himself when he says that yes, of course he can.

Four days after Sheppard's death, they head out. Rodney looks good in his wrap-skirt; at least, he looks like he's in shock and has lost so much doesn't care how immodest his stride is. The shirts remind Ronon of Satedan festival clothes, and he talks about the High and Low Days as they walk, the dances and the food. Teyla at least seems amused.

There's a military-looking roadblock after they've been on the road most of the morning. They get in the queue of refugees and have to wait nearly an hour before they're let into the processing tent. A soldier at a collapsible desk gives them forms to fill in. Ronon's nearly figured the writing out from the textbooks he stole, but the letters are awkward. He can feel the guards' eyes on him, brief curiosity and then utter disinterest, mentally categorized as just another backwards peasant.

Ronon finds that it is almost always in his best interest to let people think he's stupid.

The guard studies the forms and says they were supposed to evacuate days ago.

Ronon jerks his chin at Teyla, who is staring at the floor. He hopes the man thinks she looks sad and not furious at being delayed by bureaucracy. "My brother's wife here is missing him and the baby," Ronon says, short. "Been looking for them." He doesn't want to say more, but he wrote it on the paper, anyway, so what does it matter? "Got family in Ahanoe. Maybe they went there."

"Maybe," the guard says, but he doesn't look at Teyla.

He gives them enough meal and lodging coupons for the three days' walk to Ahanoe, and cards made of thick paper to identify them as disaster victims. Ronon signs their fake names carefully, and the guard rolls the cards through a machine. When they come out, they are covered in a hard clear shell with a red official seal. Rodney looks like he's itching to pick at the cards and figure them out, but Ronon doesn't think they're half as advanced as the money cards used on Earth.

They really do walk to Ahanoe, Rodney bitching every minute as Ronon navigates with his scavenged geography textbook. No one living along the route wants to give them food and shelter -- not after the flood of refugees who've already passed -- but no one says no. Ronon figures the government coupons don't cover everything, so he does chores: cutting wood, weeding vegetables, mending fences. Often Teyla works side-by-side with him. McKay refuses to let their bags out of sight. Ronon gets that it's self-preservation more than selfishness, though. Tied up in their bundle of stolen clothes and blankets are alien things -- McKay's computer and tools, Ronon's gun, Sheppard's music device with now-precious pictures of Torren in its memory.

They don't need anyone asking questions about what those things are or where they came from.

Ahanoe is home to The Something-or-other Academy, where they're hoping they can find the man from the television program. Once inside the town border, Ronon starts showing people the note Rodney made, and they get pointed east until they finally arrive at a jumble of stone buildings in the crook of the Ahanoe River. The Academy looks shabby and third-rate, like the Province School in Ronon's hometown that he'd passed over, preferring to study in the city at the Specialists'. The sign in front is badly painted, and the wooden shutters on the windows are blackening with rot. McKay just nods sharply and looks pleased.

Ronon lets McKay deal with the gatekeeper, who lets them pass after a desultory statement of their business, some bullshit McKay pulls out of his ass about needing to check the references on a paper about the Galt legends.

The professor they're there to see -- Iadi -- is just as flaky as Ronon expected from his television performance, but he's smart and incredibly suspicious. His classroom-slash-office is in a basement and fortified with bars on the windows and the door. Rodney talks to him at full speed and uses his computer to call up data that proves their offworld origins -- the computer itself is a pretty big clue, Ronon thinks, watching Iadi prod it with his knobby fingers.

Once Iadi is persuaded and promised a trip to Earth someday, he takes them home with him and slowly introduces them to an underground network of conspiracy theorists and survivalists. The thwarted Lucian attack is being embraced as a sign that their crackpot alien theories were right all along, and McKay rather sourly accepts the role as spokes-alien. Through Iadi's network, they get identity papers, a cheap house to rent, and jobs doing repairs in a local radio shop, inventing things in secret on the side.

Ahanoe's a good place to settle, Ronon thinks. Because the factory jobs in Foiia'oe are only two train stops away, a huge number of newcomers and refugees have swelled the town. Everyone says it's a great place for families with kids: the fresh air, the safety and friendliness. Ronon's team don't do anything to stick out or cause trouble. Teyla's taken charge; Ronon follows her lead and tries to keep Rodney from screwing up.

One morning after they've been in Ahanoe half a season, Ronon wakes up, goes out to wash in the well-trough, cooks breakfast, and is halfway through his portion of fry egg bread when he realizes he's not scared. He's been tense and alert since arriving, and the absence of fear makes him happy and sad all at once. The last time he felt this way was after he'd been rescued from running and was brought to Atlantis. Now he's lost that as well, another home, but he's not alone this time.

He watches Rodney and Teyla, trying to figure out if they're feeling the same way. Rodney's always got project he's working on, busy at the shop or in the upstairs room where he's trying to build a DHD. He's had success with the hand-cranked music-disk player he invented, even though the speakers have terrible range so far; he sells them to businesses, but he's built some for wealthy clients. Iadi's friends tried at least once to get Rodney to build weapons, and he turned them down and came home terrified they'd turn his team in to the authorities. He makes uneasy deals with them, gives htem new technology, but he still works like the Wraith are chasing him; Ronon worries he'll burn out and keeps an eye on him.

So Ronon's surprised that Teyla breaks first, and then kicks himself afterward for being stupid. He can make a new life for himself, he's done it before. Rodney carries most of what he values in his head. But Teyla's had her heart ripped away from her and held out of reach, as near and as far as a Stargate that's a barely-visible point of brightness low in the evening sky.

Rodney precipitates the break with some stupid remarks about what he misses -- Earth food and sport socks, running hot water, bug spray -- and then he starts talking carelessly about people, naming Carter and Woolsey, loudly certain that Zelenka must be managing Rodney's projects badly. 

"Shut up," Teyla shouts at him, whirling, and her fist snaps out towards Rodney's face. Ronon barely manages to throw his hand out and deflect the blow. "What do you know?" Teyla's eyes burn with anger; she's shaking with it. "You know _nothing_ of loss, you and your -- you _don't_ \-- you are a _stupid_ man." She tugs at the hand Ronon's still holding, trying to get free.

Ronon doesn't know what to say. Teyla crying is a terrible thing, like a cyclone or a winter storm, and there's no shelter, nothing to do but wait it out. He thinks if he tried to hold her she might crush his throat.

He's not surprised that Rodney's the one who talks, but he expects him to match Teyla's anger with his own. Instead, Rodney reaches out and says, "I'm sorry, I was wrong, you're right, of course you're right, I'm so sorry." And because this is Rodney he isn't talking down like to a child; he sounds irritated at himself for being wrong, and resentful for being called on it. Ronon's glad for that. It keeps Teyla from ripping Rodney limb from limb.

That night Ronon's surprised again when he's woken by Rodney and Teyla having loud, floor-shaking sex. They've dragged their bedmats as far from him as possible, out of courtesy, but Ronon can hear everything. If he opened his eyes he could probably see them, too, moving together under the big pink blanket patterned with auspicious green fish.

Ronon thinks them being together's a good idea. Rodney and Teyla are so driven that he worries they won't survive if they have to give up hope of rescue. If Rodney can't make a DHD, if Atlantis or Earth is gone, if no rescue ever finds a way to get through the phase-shield. But Ronon's lonely, too, and his dick is hard, and he can't jerk off without giving away that he's awake. He wonders idly if they can afford a bigger house, or if they'll want him to move out. He hopes not. He can sleep downstairs in the cramped office off the kitchen, except he doesn't want to make things awkward.

Rodney and Teyla wake him up dawn by having sex again. They sleep together the next night, and the morning after that.

While cutting greens for breakfast that third morning, Teyla tells Ronon she's almost five months pregnant. "I had not told John," she says, grief clear on her face in the morning light. "I feared he'd be overprotective again. Now I wish. . . ." She doesn't finish the sentence, but Ronon knows. If she'd told John, she might be at home now, with Kanaan and Torren.

"Rodney knows," Ronon asks, just to make sure, and Teyla nods.

"I'm so angry at John," Teyla says. "So, so angry. And I'm afraid of what will happen when I am not angry any more." She sighs. "If John hadn't been so _stubborn_."

"Sheppard was always like that," Ronon says, shrugging and moving the cutting board back. He pulls the bowl over to mix the eggs into the batter, whipping it into light foam before folding in the greens. "I liked that about him. Too thick to run, even when he could have." He turns his head to look Teyla in the face. They all could have run, cloaked the jumper and gone through the Stargate and let the Lucians have this planet; they could have _made_ John run, but they didn't. There'd been a chance to save the planet from Lucian occupation. Ronon thinks they succeeded. At cost. "Rodney'll get us home. You know he will."

"I love him dearly, but I do not want him delivering this baby as well." Teyla rubs her stomach and grimaces.

"I'm glad you have each other," Ronon offers. The words sound good in Satedan, but he's pretty sure the phrase is trite to Teyla's ears. She gives him a measuring look and says, _hmm_.

The next night, she and Rodney invite Ronon into their bed. Ronon nearly says _no_ , but Teyla insists, saying _for love, for comfort, for all of us_.

Ronon's never considered what sex with Rodney would be like, apart from loud. He turns out to be a good kisser. Ronon likes kissing; Teyla doesn't. The three of them don't really fuck, not the way Ronon thought they would, anyway. They rub each other and use their hands and mouths, nothing Ronon hasn't done before, nothing that makes him feel threatened. It's good.

After a few months, sleeping in a tangle of limbs is natural, and Ronon's body has adjusted to the warmth and lack of personal space. He and Rodney soothe Teyla's baby when it kicks her awake. Rodney can sing. Ronon thinks he'll be a good father.

Rodney tells him the same, and that makes Ronon's chest hurt.

Their landlord wants them to buy the house, and it'd be a good investment, especially with the baby coming. But Rodney's trying to get his music-disk player business to take off, and he needs specialized parts for the DHD, and even though Teyla says she can keep working in the shop after the child's born, that'd mean hiring a carer. Ronon's against that. The only other Athosian on the planet, the child of Kanaan and sibling of Torren, shouldn't grow up in a stranger's house.

The child should grow up in the family clanhouse, and Ronon wants to give her -- or him -- that sense of place and belonging.

Brothels are commonplace in this town, maybe all over this world. Drugs aren't legal, not even alcohol, but Ahanoe's got a whole avenue of shops where men sell sex to men and women to women; sex is how most people relax after hard work. Selling sex isn't scorned, either. People need money, sometimes.

Rodney's furious when Ronon gets a contract, and Teyla's tight-mouthed and unreadable.

"No," Rodney says, looking hurt and furious.

"It's just sex," Ronon says. "No big deal." He gives Rodney a look. "You don't own my mouth."

Rodney's eyes narrow. "Sex means something."

"So don't tell me it means something bad," Ronon says, and shrugs, and starts to lay out the vegetables for dinner.

Rodney looks personally wounded when Ronon goes out the first evening, but Ronon doesn't really get it. Sucking dick's probably the easiest thing Ronon's ever done for money. Ronon has to keep his face clean-shaven, which is annoying, but the hours are short, the people are nice, and the pay is good.

He asks Teyla about Rodney once, why he's so upset. Teyla sighs and gives Ronon a wry look. "I think I would care if Torren sold his body." She never talks about her family; hearing the name spoken is a shock.

"I'm not a kid," Ronon says. "And Rodney's nothing like my father."

Teyla shakes her head. "In their culture, John took on a, a vow of protection towards us. I think it's meant as a sign of respect. He spoke for us before we were allowed to join the team, and now. . . I think Rodney is holding John's vow for him."

"Huh," Ronon says. It kind of makes sense; it also sounds a lot like the Athosian idea of honor, so he's not sure how much is projection on Teyla's part. "So I'd be pissing on Rodney, his culture, and John's memory if I told him to fuck off?"

Teyla puts her hand on his arm. "I was taught that sharing your body is a celebration of life between closest friends."

"Sateda had partner bonds," Ronon snaps, annoyed. "But I've been away from home a long time now."

"I'm not sure how you'll take this," Teyla says, and leans into Ronon until he puts his arm around her shoulders. "But I believe that John would have done the same as you, if it meant our survival. And Rodney would be just as sad."

Ronon sucks in a deep breath, feeling his face tighten, and wishes that he had a sparring partner. He wants to fight until he's sweat-soaked and stumbling with weariness. He almost misses the Wraith, an enemy with an ugly tangible form, and not this day-to-day existence where the struggle to survive is being replaced by domesticity. He can't get the picture of John selling sex out of his head, and he knows that's why Teyla spoke.

He has no words, just the pressure of anger held back, and after a while he turns and walks out and leaves Teyla there.

He asks around at work the next day and finds out where people go to fight. Turns out there's money to be made from that as well.

He's angry at both Teyla and Rodney up until the baby is born, but the first mewling cries of the girl the doctor hands him lance his anger like a boil. He diapers her and wraps her in the soft blanket and sets her against his shoulder, one hand holding her neck just so, and the world is suddenly good again. He can smell the warm monsoon-wet ground and the cooling bitter tea, and outside the window he can see fields, mountains, the bend of the river, the white-walled houses, familiar and safe. Turning around, Rodney's there wiping Teyla's face, and Ronon tells the baby, "That's your mother. That's your dad."

She reacts to the rumble of words against her chest with a well-aimed punch to his neck, a fist the size of his thumb smacking into his tattoo, and Ronon laughs and falls in love.

He stops working at the brothel the day he pays off the house. It's nice to be home nights, and to have more hours of sleep. Money gets tight, but Rodney's finally ready to start mass manufacturing. Ronon helps him make parts, hurrying because they both know that harvest-time is when people will be free with their money, and Teyla and a local _ou'ia_ player record disk after disk of popular music. Teyla names her daughter Tagan Elizabeth, but they call her Taa, which is a good local name, the name of a river-diving bird. Ronon doesn't talk about how they're all settling in; he's afraid of calling down a jinx. But for all that Rodney's planning another trip out to the Ancient outpost in the spring dry season and studying the data on his computer, they mention Atlantis less and less. Hope of escape is starting to fade, like a wound healing into a scar.

Ronon's... okay with that. He uses his knives now to carve blocks and balls from lightwood, and builds Taa a cradle and a chair, and birds that dance on strings from the ceiling. Taa learns to walk and talk and run. In his spare time, Rodney's moved on to new inventions -- ink pens, a process for making cheap water-pipes -- and Ronon still works putting together music-disk players, while Teyla does marketing and sales as well as singing. Rodney and Teyla's plans are as intricate as puzzle-balls, designed to not attract attention. They have enough money, but not too much; they grow their own vegetables; they help at harvest time and provide entertainment at festivals. Like many refugees, they have a well-cared-for shrine to the dead on their front porch. Every year at the equinoxes, when the worlds of the living and dead open to each other, they travel by train and on foot to the Ancient outpost. Rodney takes notes and mutters to himself for half the day, and then lets himself be dragged away to lay flowers on the memory stone erected at the edge of the great crater, lush and green now.

Then one day Ronon goes to the posting agents to mail off one of Rodney's music players and a set of music disks, and the post warden tells him to wait a moment because there's a package to sign for. Ronon's glad he's got their official stamps on hand; otherwise he'd tell her not to bother. She brings out a sloppily-tied letter on cheap thick pulp and shows him the address. The clumsy letters just say _To the music player people_ and Ahanoe, so it's a surprise that the letter got this far. But all down the left side, under the postage-paid marks, is a row of points crested with circles. To Ronon, it means _Atlantis_ , and he can barely keep his hands from shaking as he signs the receipt and accepts the letter, tucking it in his vest like it's just another order. He doesn't know who's watching; he doesn't dare read it in public.

He goes straight home, not stopping in at the shop to pick up Taa the way he usually does. He locks the door and opens the letter, smoothing it out carefully on the tabletop before he thinks maybe he shouldn't be the one to read this first. Too late, though.

There is just one line, written in large wobbly letters. It says, _I learned that song as Country Roads_. On the promo disk that Rodney sends out with each new music player, there's one Athosian lullaby and one song from Earth, but the titles and words are different. _Going Home_ 's become popular with factory workers who rarely make it back to their hometowns; Teyla's rendition is soulful and sad.

Only someone from Earth -- or who had been there -- would know the original song. Ronon's heart feels lightweight; they have been found, somehow, after all these months.

The letter's signature is a jerky sprawl that kind of looks like English letters. Ronon squints at it until the loops at the start form a _J_ , followed by a serpentine _S_... and he presses his palms down hard on the table. At first he accuses himself of wishful thinking, but he can't unsee or unbelieve or unknow. He's angry, furious; he wants to break things down into sand and shards, so much he's shaking with restraint. His heart feels like it's breaking. He remembers flying and freedom.

He's still sitting there when Rodney and Teyla get home, Rodney banging on the locked door impatiently, both of them reading Ronon's mood and reacting with alarm.

"What's wrong?" Rodney says, sharp and loud, and Teyla holds Taa close on her hip. "You're crying."

"John," Ronon says, and shifts back so they can see the table and the letter. He wipes at his face. Huh. Rodney was right. "Maybe."

"He can't be alive," Teyla says, suspicious, staring at the letter. "Someone's using his name?" 

"Yes, yes," Rodney cuts in. "It could be a trap; we might have to run. Give that to me."

Ronon pushes his chair back, scraping the legs over the floor. "Come here yourself."

Rodney reads the letter once, and then again, and then he sits down, picks it up in both hands, and stares at it and the envelope for well over an hour, while Teyla and Ronon prepare supper and Taa runs back and forth, building a house for her dolls and her cars.

"It's not Sheppard's handwriting," Rodney says finally over dinner, Taa perched on his knee and rolling yellow peas around his plate with a spoon. "He might have been. . . . Someone might have made him."

Ronon's wondered that. If John had been captured, after the explosion. . . he'd look pretty damn guilty to the people here. Might not even deny that he'd caused all the destruction, especially if he thought he'd dropped the Lucian ship on the outpost, killing his own team. The possibility that the letter's from John does seem more likely than off-world rescuers getting through the planetary shield, and that can't be good. In most of the stories Ronon knows, ghosts coming back is a bad thing.

"But why now?" Teyla asks, looking at Taa and miming eating. "After these years. And why this message?"

"I'll go," Ronon says. He's the most expendable of the team, after all. Teyla's got Taa to care for, and Rodney is their hope for escape -- not to mention Iadi's friends keep a close eye on Rodney's movements, afraid he'll slip through their fingers. Ronon reaches across the table to pick up John's letter again. The reverse side has a company stamp and the numbercode for an address in Miaba. "Check this place out. Take me a day to get there, day to get back."

"Our radios work," Rodney says slowly. "You'll check in every day." Then he gives Ronon a sly grin. "You'll need a nicer skirt for traveling."

"So make me one," Ronon challenges. He likes wearing the soft leather skirts sold for factory laborers; they're more practical than the lightweight wraps Rodney prefers.

Still, Ronon doesn't argue when Rodney and Teyla present him with new clothes for the trip. When he gets off at the rail transport terminal in Miaba he still looks like some country cousin visiting the city for the first time, but at least the factory recruiters leave him alone. He hasn't been in a place like this since -- well. San Francisco, Vancouver before that, and Kanhaeli on Sateda, a long time ago. The air is dirty. The buildings stand five and six stories high and block the sunlight. Ronon's skin itches from having so many people around him. He has to take a trolley to get to the sector where the letter was posted, and he worries, squinting at the sky, that the office will be closed by the time he arrives.

The trolley stop is just across the street from the building that matches the numbercode, and the company name is stenciled on the front door in a swirl of green and yellow, for good luck. It's a lot bigger than Ronon had expected, with twelve windows along the front on either side of the the door. He's tempted to walk all the way around and check all the exits, but workers are already trickling out, looking glad to be in the thin sunlight.

Ronon goes in. There's a desk with a staircase behind it, and a stern looking man perched on a stool arranging cards officiously in a box.

Ronon is pretty sure his cover story is stupid, but it's all he has. He clears his throat and gives the man a narrow smile. "I'm looking for a guy from my home town I heard works here," he says. The man looks like he wishes he was allowed to roll his eyes at people. "He's got brown hair, going grey. Light brown skin. Water-colored eyes," he adds, because that's unusual among the local people. Rodney doesn't blend in well at all. He holds his hand up like a measure. "About this tall."

"Ma Yaa'han?" the guy asks, and Ronon has no idea what that means. It might be a name. It might be some city way of asking him if he's nuts. The city accent is fast and clipped.

Ronon gives the man his best blank stare. "Thought he died in the crater," he says, truthfully. "If he's alive I owe him a life-debt, and I mean to pay it back."

Ronon does stubborn well, but this man's _job_ is to move problems away from his desk, not to solve them. He points down the corridor. "Ask Personnel," he says. "Third room on the left."

Ronon nods his thanks. None of the rooms have doors, just traditional archways, so he decides to look in all of them first. He's not thinking of the letter as a trap, but he knows there's a chance it was code that McKay was too emotional to figure out. Ronon wants to hope, despite knowing it's a weakness; part of his brain's been chanting John's name the whole trip, like that has the power to raise the dead.

There's a man with short dark spiky hair at the end of a row of desks in the fifth room down to the right, sitting at a desk near the window. Ronon's body reacts like he's sighted prey, snapping into hyperawareness of his surroundings and of the man.

Who can't be John, because he's writing with a stylus held in the crook of his elbow; his arm ends above the wrist. Ronon feels sorry for the guy. Medicine on this world's expensive; a lot of people do without or settle for folk remedies. Especially after the Lucian crash, when doctors and healers were overwhelmed, people died or were crippled from small, stupid causes. It sucks.

Ronon's staring because of the man's hair. The worker at the desk across from the man says something that makes him turn to look right at Ronon, challenge in his narrowed eyes and raised chin. Ronon's embarrassed for being rude, and then his head goes dizzy and he walks forward like he's fallen into a dream.

Just like in the Earth movies, he thinks dumbly, and then he's saying, "John," and John's looking stunned, staring up at him in disbelief and hope and fear, and saying, "Ronon."

Ronon can see John's wheelchair now, and that John's left sleeve is empty, but he's happy, overflowing with emotion. He grabs John into a hug and gets hugged back just as tightly. He buries his face in John's neck and says, so only John hears, "We're alive, all of us." John's grip around his neck is so tight Ronon feels tears sting his eyes from not being able to catch his breath.

Everything after that is softly blurred with joy. Ronon can't stop grinning, even though his face aches and people back away from him. He follows John through the dirty city back to his apartment, and John makes dinner for them both. John doesn't use the wheelchair at home; he says the pedal mechanism that propels the wheels wears him out, and Ronon makes a note to ask John if he wants to be pushed, even though the chair doesn't have visible handles. The floor of John's room is raised, the height of his wheelchair seat, and he leaves the chair by the door and puts on a prosthetic that lengthens his shorter leg enough to walk. Ronon's head brushes the ceiling when he steps up, and John tells him to sit down while he cooks and stop looming. There's a river behind the apartment building, and John's got a bit of a view of scrub-brush and weeds, the shine of grey water sliding past, the sun setting in a glory of orange and gold.

As he sits down to eat, letting Ronon serve the food, John says he pays extra for the scenery, but he looks more houseproud than abashed about it.

Ronon points a bit to the left of the setting sun. "We're living that way, six hours by rail," he says. "Little town called Ahanoe. Guess you knew that, though."

"So close," John says. Ronon's not sure if he's being sarcastic. John's not talking much, but Ronon has the feeling John's self-conscious with someone in his home, watching him eat. Ronon wants to put John at ease, but he doesn't know the right thing to say. His own happiness is like a drug, making everything feel perfect and possible, but he keeps reminding himself that John's changed now, almost a stranger, and Ronon needs to respect his wariness. Ronon must seem equally strange and changed.

"Teyla had a baby right after we got here," he tells John. "A girl. Kanaan's."

John swallows his food fast and says, "Whoa." He doesn't ask questions. Ronon tries to anticipate them anyway.

Ronon's been looking around the room, trying to get a sense of John from the spare furnishings. John has a flowering funeral plant on the table, the blooms twisting towards the window. There are three rocks set in front of it, which Ronon recognizes because there's one on the altar in his shrine to the dead. Every year, they replace it with a new one, picked up at the crater.

Ronon turns his gaze back to John. "Weird, yeah." He shrugs. "We're all fucking, too," he adds, taking advantage of John not having anything in his mouth to choke on. John flinches and swallows reflexively anyway. "First Teyla and Rodney, then all three of us." John's eyes on him are hard and unreadable, and Ronon wishes he could make John understand. "It's not like sex people sell here. We're all we have, so we have to have each other. A real family. A clan." He shrugs. "It's a good thing."

"Well, good for you," John says, and Ronon definitely hears bitterness and anger behind the words.

"Yeah," Ronon fires back, letting the edge of his impatience show. "Don't be a dick, Sheppard." And then he kicks himself in the ass mentally, because he doesn't want John to feel excluded. He tries to say that, but the words tangle, so finally he just leans back and forces himself to slow down, make it count. "We thought you were dead," he says, jerking his chin at John's memory stones. "But we never thought you weren't part of our family or our team, we always _wanted_ you. Alive. No matter how angry we were," he added, and John's teeth close hard on his lower lip, yeah, he understands they had a right to anger, "we never wished you loneliness or pain. Never." He blew out a breath. "And we want you to come live with us and we don't want you to keep _on_ being alone under our clanhouse roof. That'd be... obscene. Not sure what shape being together's going to be, because like I said, we've been fucking, and maybe you don't want that, which is fine. We want _you_."

John eyes him warily, like the flood of words makes him suspicious, and then sighs, scrubbing his arm over his face wearily. "I don't want to fight," he says, and stares out the window. The sky's a beautiful deep color now, blurring into night. "After I... when I got better, I fucked people to pay the medical bills." He gestures, vague and encompassing. "Still have debt, though."

"It's good money," Ronon offers after a moment. He'd noticed John didn't have a beard, but he hadn't known if a clean face meant a whore here as well as at home.

John shrugs. "Rather have done anything else. They didn't exactly give me a choice." Ronon's flooded with fast sharp anger. He gets the clear impression that John's been hurt and alone and unable to do what he wants for far too long.

"Sucks," Ronon says. That makes John laugh in surprise, and his face settles into a familiar grin.

"Lucky sucking's something I got good at, then," John says, with a sly antagonism in the tilt to his eyebrows.

Ronon snorts and leans over to shove John's shoulder with his palm, careful not to knock John off balance. "You never talked about sex before."

John looks at Ronon like he's _stupid_. "Neither did you."

"Huh," Ronon says. He guesses that's true. He used to with Teyla, but he understood the Athosian way of thinking better than the Earth one. "I sold sex for a while. Bought a clanhouse for Taa. Teyla's kid. Not right for a kid not to have a home."

"You know Teyla's people live in tents, right?" John says, turning his hand prosthetic sideways so he can pick up his mug and sip at his sour-fruit juice, grimacing. "Bet she was real glad to have you go all big-brother on her."

Teyla hadn't said anything, but suddenly in retrospect Ronon sees her acceptance less as gratitude and more as amused tolerance, an acknowledgment that a home was something Ronon needed, for his own comfort and sanity. He's... grateful to her, for never out and telling him that.

It occurs to him that no matter how much he and Rodney and Teyla want John, John may not need them. John's built a life here and paid for it with his body, and if he wants to stay in his apartment and work his desk-job and do whatever he's been doing to keep himself sane, they'll have to accept that.

"You have choices," he tells John. "I came here to... welcome you home. Didn't know you were...." He's not sure how people from Earth talk about bad injuries. People who couldn't be cured on Atlantis were sent back to Earth.

John waits a beat, and then suggests, "Shorter." He puts the mug down, turns the prosthetic back, and starts working again on the baked vegetables. Ronon hopes Rodney can make John better tools, because everything looks incredibly difficult: cooking, eating, walking. He remembers teaching John how to play grab-flag, how funny it had been at the time. Not so much now.

"So think about it," Ronon concludes. "Sleep on it." He reaches for his bag. "I need to radio Rodney. We weren't sure you wrote that letter. Thought it might've been rescue, or a trap."

John snorts. "I knew as soon as I heard Teyla's voice coming out of a record player. How the hell did you get her to do John Denver?"

"She likes it," Ronon says, taking out his radio and starting to wind the crank to charge it. "Some of your music anyway, from your thing. Rodney put up windmills for power, Teyla listens sometimes. Looks at those pictures of Torren you used to carry around."

"Jesus," John says. He looks shaken, bleak, close to crying, maybe. "Jesus _fuck_."

"It's a good song," Ronon says, deliberately obtuse. "We changed the river's name to the Ahanoe and stuff."

"I noticed," John says dryly, and tips his head to the side like he's not going to argue but he doesn't quite agree. He sucks in a hard breath through his nose, then runs his tongue over his upper lip. "I'll go take a shower while you phone home." Ronon opens his mouth, because he knows Rodney and Teyla will want to talk to John, but John waves to cut him off. "I don't want to hear what you tell them," he says, hardness in his eyes again.

Ronon figures it's more like John doesn't want to hear Rodney and Teyla's reaction. "I'll clean up the dinner things," he says. "You cooked."

John's mouth twists. "Reheated."

"Whatever. It was good. Teyla still can't cook." Ronon figures she's probably burning the beans right at that moment, and Rodney's offering advice in the least helpful way. "Any help you need, ask me."

"I manage," John says sharply, reflexively, and then closes his eyes for a second. "I don't want you to be my helper."

Ronon keeps cranking, the whir oddly comforting. "And I don't want you to be a dumbass." He's not sure it needs saying, but he adds, "Teyla's head of the team now."

"Figured," John murmurs. He glances at Ronon sidelong. "Rodney give her shit about it?"

"He values his life too much," Ronon says, and John laughs, short, like he's unused to laughter.

"Where are you staying?" John asks, pushing up. "Could you, ah," he gestures vaguely at the door, "don't leave without telling me."

"Went straight from the train to find you," Ronon admits, watching as John maneuvers out of the prosthetics and back into the wheelchair, snagging a net toiletries bag from a hook. "You know a hostel nearby?"

"Here," John says immediately. "You can take the bed." He's just got a bed-mat on the floor, shoved up against the wall opposite the cooking space, covered with a yellow blanket. There are four pillows; either John has a lot of bed-partners, or he's very fond of pillows. "Not great, but cheap," John says, with a shrug.

"Thanks," Ronon says. John waves like he's embarrassed by gratitude and pulls the loop to unlatch the door, shoving it open with a deft push from a wheel.

Alone in John's room, Ronon's got the impulse to spy, but there aren't any closets or drawers. John doesn't keep anything hidden away. He's got a shelf with a couple of books about finance and an _amahi_ racquet. He doesn't have a music-disk player, but most people don't unless they're rich. Ronon wonders where John heard Teyla sing. How John reacted, how he must have had to ask the shop owner to tell him where to send a letter.

Ronon shakes his head to push the curiosity away. He's just, he thinks, trying to distract himself, which is stupid. John's giving him this time for a reason.

He calls Rodney and says John's alive and before Rodney can start talking adds that John's legs are half gone and he's only got what's left of one arm, and Ronon's not going to be on the next-day train and probably not the one after that, either.

"But he's doing okay," Ronon says. "Got a job and a place and everything. His hair's more grey, and he still can't make it look good."

"Give him our love," Teyla says, and Ronon can't help smiling, imagining that she's wrestled the mic away from Rodney.

When John comes back, Ronon's got the room as night-ready as he knows how. The dishes are washed and set on a cloth to dry, and the bed's made up with the blanket turned back. John's hair's damp, and his shirt's been washed, hanging off the back of the wheelchair to dry. Ronon asks, and then hangs the shirt and the towel out the window. Out of John's reach, but Ronon'll be there in the morning.

When he's done he finds that John's moved two of the pillows to the floor, like that's where he's planning on spending the night.

"Teyla says I have to give you everyone's love," Ronon tells him. "And also I should stay with you as long as you want. So either we share the bed, or I kick your ass."

"I'd like to see you try," John says automatically, and then meets Ronon's eyes and dissolves into contagious surprised laughter. Ronon drops onto the floor, laughing so hard his stomach hurts, and throws an arm around John, curling his head against John's chest until they both wheeze into silence. John pats Ronon on the back, like Teyla trying to calm Taa down for a nap. "You're still such a doofus," John says, so Ronon rolls backwards, pulling John with him onto the mat.

He remembers the mistakes he made with Torren and Taa, thinking they had more control over their bodies than they did, the terror he'd felt when their tiny heads had accidentally flopped and their bodies had jerked in angry startle reflex. So he's careful with John, knowing he can't catch himself, knowing John's vulnerable and has a longer memory for betrayal than a tiny baby. Ronon doesn't want to screw this up, but it feels good to get his arms around John, feel him breathe, know he's real.

John makes Ronon grab the pillows from the floor and turn the light out, and they fall asleep in no time at all.

Ronon's woken by an insistent alarm and John trying to crawl over him to turn it off.

"Hey," he says, shifting out of the way and nearly dropping John on his head. He catches John by the wrist and yanks him back before realizing that his fingers are around John's stump and John's frozen. Ronon lets go and grabs the alarm clock instead, holding it up for John to turn off. It's so early that outside the sky's still dark, and Ronon yawns wide.

"Go back to sleep," John says, voice low like he can undo the work of the shrill alarm. "I have to go to work."

"I'll come with you," Ronon says, crawling out of bed, giving his head a shake to get his brain moving, and taking the laundry in.

"You're going to get sick of me," John warns, accepting his shirt and pulling it on with practiced annoyance and a certain amount of swearing.

"No," Ronon says. "I'm not." And he lets John deal with that while he puts mugs of juice and and breadrolls on the table.

John toys with his food like he's got no appetite before he says, abrupt, "I get these nightmares, about being rescued, that feel real until I wake up. I... sometimes I think I'm losing it. I didn't expect you to be here, now. Still. In the morning."

"I dream about Sateda," Ronon offers. "Couple times a year. Talking to people who are dead."

"I miss running," John says, and shrugs. "My wheels are pretty cool, though."

"Rodney's probably going to try and build you cooler stuff," Ronon says. "He's trying to make Teyla a DHD."

John nods, raises his roll and takes a dutiful bite. "I have to... if I'm going back with you, I need to see if I can get work transferred to Ahanoe, give my landlady notice, talk to my doctor, stuff. Debt collectors." He waves his arm, all-encompassing.

"We got time," Ronon says, and drains his juice. "And you got me."

John stares at him flat, and then jabs his arm at Ronon accusingly. "No quoting Sonny and Cher."

Ronon leans back on his hands and grins until John grins back.

Ronon stays with John for four weeks. He thinks it's good, because they get on each others' nerves and fight and learn how to get along. In the last week, John finds out that Rodney's planning to absorb his personal debt into the company debt and yells at Rodney over the radio, a lot of profanity coiled around incisive cruelty. Ronon turns the radio off and John turns on him, and somehow they end up on the floor, Ronon pinning John down with the intent not to let him up until he's stopped struggling.

Except it's been four weeks since Ronon got laid and who knows how long for John, and when John kisses him he thinks it's a _great_ idea. He lets John shove him over and opens his trousers when John orders him to, and John's mouth on his cock nearly breaks him with relief, the way thunder opens the sky for a welcome downpour. John can take Ronon deep, and he closes his eyes as he uses his tongue to explore the shaft of Ronon's cock, and to cradle the head when he pulls back. Ronon's not using a prophylactic and he warns John when he's about to come, but John just smirks at him and bobs his head, cheeks hollowing as he lets Ronon empty into him.

"You want the same?" Ronon asks when he's got his breath back. John doesn't look so much turned on as insufferably smug, head pillowed on Ronon's hip and stroking his stomach idly.

John raises his head and glances up, and his expression's a look Ronon's seen on people who sell sex long-time, like he's weighing the truth against self-protection. "Your hands," John admits. "I've thought about... being touched."

Ronon reaches down and runs the backs of his fingers along the side of John's face, from the lines at the corners of his eye down over his cheek. John shudders, and Ronon refuses to let himself think about what it means to have no hands, all the things John's lost and can't do for himself.

"Get onto the bed," he says. "Aren't you too old to screw on the floor?"

John's head turns fast and his teeth catch the pad of Ronon's middle finger, pulling it upright so Ronon's giving himself the obscene Earth gesture.

Ronon sits up, gets his arm around John's waist, and flips him over his shoulder to carry him over and roll him unceremoniously onto the mat. John wears stretch-waist shorts at home; they pull off pretty easy, and Ronon takes a long, slow look at every naked bit of John spread out before him.

"You want to tell me what to do with my hands, or you want me to explore?" Ronon asks. "I'm good either way."

John swallows. "I don't know, can't you just -- "

Ronon puts his palms over John's nipples, then curls his fingers down so his fingertips catch them, rolling them against his thumbs.

"That works," John says through clenched teeth.

Ronon bends to kiss him, so he can feel how John's breath catches with Ronon's hands teasing him. He lets one hand trail up and curl around John's shoulder, the smooth scarred skin where his arm was, and then slides it smoothly down to John's waist. John's thinner now, and his muscles are hard and strong; he doesn't run, but the way he has to use his body works him just as hard. Harder, Ronon thinks, John's stomach clenching under his fingers, reacting to arousal or just ticklish, he's not sure. John doesn't pull away, either way. Still a warrior, Ronon tells John, meeting his eyes as he moves his hand further down until his fingers close around John's cock, twisting down over the head to spread precum slick over hot skin. Still someone he'd follow into battle.

John tells him to shut up and kisses him sloppily, throwing his arm around Ronon's shoulders as his mouth moves down his neck, trailing bite-marks. He's restless, and every long slow pull Ronon gives his cock has him arching, legs trying to find hold on the bed, teeth trying to draw blood. It's incredibly hot to have John trust him enough to fall apart in Ronon's hands, and Ronon tries to honor that trust. But it's hard not to try and rush the conclusion. John's slick with sweat, gasping, trying to fuck Ronon's fist, noisy, out of his head. Ronon shifts, uses the hand he's been bracing himself with to pinch John's nipples again, and John jerks so hard his forehead hits Ronon's shoulder. He stays like that, curling up and shaking with tension, for another two, three pulls on his cock, and then come splatters over his stomach and Ronon's fingers. Whatever John groans out would probably be obscene if it was intelligible, but Ronon can't make out words, and then John goes silent and limp, falling back to the mat with his chest heaving, eyes closed, ridiculous smile spreading across his face.

"Now that we've got that out of the way," John says, reaching out and touching Ronon's hip, "we good?"

"We've always been good," Ronon corrects.

John shrugs amiably. "It's because I'm older and wiser." He takes a breath. "Rodney can't just do stuff for me or to me because I'm crippled and can't stop him. The word I'd use for that's not _kindness_."

"Then tell him what to do. He takes orders."

John raises an eyebrow. "He hates orders."

"So?" Ronon gets up and digs John's washcloth out of his bag, wetting it and washing John clean, then rinsing the cloth and hanging it out the window.

John waits for him to get back into bed before turning the light off and saying, "I want to see them. I just don't want them to see me."

Ronon tries to imagine being reunited with Ara and Tyre, back in the day, but being in a wheelchair and missing limbs. His gut feeling is that, no matter what he knew objectively, he'd feel ashamed for not being as strong. For not being a fighter, for not being tall, for having trouble feeding himself, even. "You're still who you are," he says.

"No." John's voice is sharper. "I can't be here like this, and have been a _whore_ , for fuck's sake, and be the John Sheppard they expect to see. No matter what you've been telling them over the radio."

"Yeah, well," Ronon says, and reaches out to wrap an arm around John's stomach, shifting so he's pressed up against his side. John's warm, and he smells good, like sweat and sex. John puts his arm over Ronon's hand, and Ronon cups the stump, tracing the scars with his fingertips.

"Yeah," John echoes, mocking but not mean. "I wish I'd had the nerve to proposition you back in Atlantis. Think how good sex would be with four hands."

Ronon plants his bearded chin on John's shoulder and rubs so it scratches. "I was too fucked up back then from losing everything."

John sighs. "We've got to stop meeting like this," he says. "And that hurts, damn it."

Ronon puts his head back on the pillow. "We're not going to meet again," he says patiently, "because I'm not leaving you again."

John goes quiet, and Ronon closes his eyes, thinking John's falling asleep. But then John says, sounding like his nose is stuffed up, "I'm going to hold you to that."

"Good," Ronon says. "Now shut up and maybe there'll be time to screw tomorrow morning." He waits for John to make some smartass response, but this time John really is drifting off, the rise and fall of his chest steady and slow, like the wash of ocean waves against city walls. Ronon snags the blanket with his free hand, pulls it loose and spreads it over both of them, and falls asleep dreaming, not of Atlantis, but of his clanhouse, Rodney and Teyla in the kitchen doorway, and Taa running to greet him, arms spread wide.

~..~..~..~

Reality's better.

Homecoming involves solid warm hugs and so much good food that even after Ronon loosens the waist of his skirt it still won't all fit in his stomach. Taa sits on his knee and eats from his plate, and Teyla sits next to John and won't stop smiling any more than Rodney can stop talking.

The house is different: the front steps are now a slope up to the door, and the office off the kitchen has been emptied, cleaned, and turned into a bedroom. The bathroom and toilet have always been in the garden outbuilding, but now they're connected by a roofed-over boardwalk, and there's hot running water. Rodney hints, sounding equally proud and aggrieved, that Teyla's the reason for this, not John, and explicates that neither of his advanced degrees is in plumbing.

"So it could break any minute now?" John asks dubiously, pushing the lever that fills the sink with water and raising his eyebrows in appreciation at the steamy warmth.

Rodney waves a finger at him. "I have patents, and I know how to use them."

John rolls back a step. Rodney's itching to get his hands on John's wheelchair, and John doesn't let anyone touch it. Not yet.

Ronon stays in the downstairs room with John, even though John tells him he doesn't have to. Ronon doesn't want to sleep with Rodney and Teyla unless John's with them, and John's not going to sleep with Teyla until he's comfortable around Rodney, because of some complicated honor holdover from his social upbringing. Teyla doesn't get it any more than Ronon does; she complains that it's like a dance where everyone keeps whirling away from each other. Ronon tells her they've got time.

John and Rodney finally fight a season after John moves in. Ronon misses most of it, because as soon as the yelling starts Teyla hands Taa to him and makes shooing gestures. But he knows John's working through frustrations; they all are. John has to prove he can do everything by himself, he hears Rodney yell. He's too stubborn to ask for help. _I don't need your fucking help,_ John shouts back, and Ronon tickles Taa as he swings her up onto his shoulders, heading out the gate and down to the meadow before she learns even more words that Teyla considers inappropriate.

When the sun lowers, a good half- _yat_ or so later, Ronon heads back, promising Taa dried sourfruit slices for her snack. Teyla's working in the garden when they get back, and she gives Ronon a significant look.

"I spoke to John," she says. She makes it sound as if _speaking_ is a kind of martial art. "He's upstairs, talking with Rodney. Hopefully, they are apologizing."

Ronon snorts. "More likely they're battling with paper planes. Again."

Teyla purses her mouth, and Ronon hands Taa over to be washed up.

He sets the table for the afternoon snack, which is a serious meal in their household, and hears the upstairs door open. There's a bit of a scuffle, and some muffled, mild swearing, and then John makes his way down the stairs, Rodney in front of him, braced and ready to catch him if he falls. John only slips badly once, and Ronon knows it's because the steps are angled too steeply. John tries instinctively to catch himself with the arm he hasn't got and cracks his head on a step, but not too hard, because Rodney grabs him.

"Thanks," John says, getting his legs back under him, and Rodney lets go. Over the table, Ronon sees Rodney eyeing the bruise on John's forehead, and after the dishes are cleaned and put away John lets Rodney put a cold towel on it, muttering and calling John stupid, the way he always used to.

In bed that night, John tells Ronon that he didn't have sex with Rodney -- _in case you were wondering_ \-- and Ronon says he doesn't care, and John says, _but_ you _can_.

"I could rebuild the staircase," Ronon suggests. "Make the steps less steep." John waves the offer away, like he's too tired to talk about it. Ronon decides to anyway; he doesn't want Taa getting hurt, either.

They make their equinoctial trip to the outpost with John this time; it feels significant, like the closing of a circle. Rodney gleefully anticipates the database rolling over for the Ancient gene, and he's more than satisfied. He's manic with glee, ordering John to touch this and that and activate some other thing.

Ronon and Teyla take Taa for a walk along the perimeter of the outpost's security shield. Something about the way the shield filters light means that plants don't grow well here; the grass is sickly, but at least it never grows higher than a handspan or two. Taa runs, burning off all the frustration of having to be still and quiet on the train, and Teyla chases her. Teyla's tense with expectation and hope; she always is when they come here, but now with John, Ronon can tell she expects the miraculous. So Ronon chases her, making her laugh and Taa scream with delight as he shakes his head and roars.

The game lasts until Taa announces her hunger with whining and a refusal to walk one step further. Ronon swings her up on his hip as they head back, his other arm around Teyla's shoulders. Inside, Ronon has to blink to adjust his eyes to the artificial lights, while John greets their return with relief. Teyla removes Rodney from the computer console monitors with threats and the promise of sandwiches; Ronon snags food and one of the blankets and tells John to get his ass outside.

"All _day_ people've been ordering me around," John bitches, sounding exhausted. The pain lines framing his eyes and mouth are sharp, and Ronon's glad Teyla insisted on staying here for the night instead of going to a local inn.

"I'll make it good for you," Ronon promises, and holds the door to let John through.

He spreads the blanket out where it won't be visible from the doorway and helps John down. John waves away the offer of food and settles facing the sky, twisting his hips, arching his back, ending up with legs and arm carelessly spread out. At home, Ronon might think John was trying to be seductive, but right now he suspects John's just been too uncomfortable for too long and doesn't give a fuck what he looks like, with his head tipped back, eyes closed.

"Let me finish eating," Ronon says through his sandwich, "then I'll do your back."

John makes a sleepy noise of pleasure that ends with a smile. He doesn't open his eyes, but he turns his face towards Ronon anyway. "I found drones. Not here, at the polar shield-generators, which Rodney thinks have to have a ZPM to run all this."

"Hnh," Ronon says, and swallows. He washes the food down with tea from the flask. "So when the DHDs done we can turn the shield off and call Earth?"

John draws in a deep breath, and Ronon watches his chest rise then fall. "The whole planet'd be vulnerable, and we don't know what's out there. I don't remember -- " and Ronon frowns, because he'd never thought to ask John about the Lucian attack; Teyla's the one who discovered John had believed they'd been in the jumper with him, and he'd survived, but they'd died. John never looked for the outpost because he didn't remember there was one. He says he probably hit his head, when he crashed. "But I must've brought down the ship with drones from the jumper, so it's possible." Another breath, and Ronon wonders if John's practicing something Teyla taught him, to keep the emotions at bay. "And look how many people died. What if I drop the next ship that comes on Miaba? I could take out a cool two, three million." He does open his eyes then, and they're dark and intense. "The Lucian death toll for enslaving this whole planet would be nothing compared to that."

"The Lucians might be gone by now." From what he knows of Milky Way local governments like the Free Jaffa and Earth, Ronon suspects that the Lucians have no chance of keeping the territory and wealth they've amassed. Of course, some other assholes will take their place once they're weeded out.

"You know people from Earth came looking for us, right?" Ronon sticks the last third of his sandwich back in the bag, saving it for sometime John's not feeling chatty. "We're out of phase, more invisible than invisible, and... they must have sent jumpers, the Daedalus or the Hammond, but they're never going to find us unless we deliberately put this whole planet at risk." The corners of John's mouth go up in a mean smile. "And we're going to do that, and not ask anyone's permission to do it."

Ronon frowns. There's no planetary government qualified to give that kind of permission, and only Iadi and his crackpot revolutionary friends have the faintest idea about life offworld. "Teyla won't give the order unless she's _sure_."

John's shoulders shift in a diffident shrug. "Nothing's sure. But we're going to do this thing anyway, sometime the next couple years." His lips narrow. "The polar stations look like they might have parts for Rodney's DHD. I'm... there's got to be some kind of transport somewhere. The Ancients wouldn't have walked to the ass of the world."

"I could do it," Ronon says without thinking, because it's true -- he doesn't mind the cold, and he's good at survival planning. Rodney's lying if he's telling John there's some other way to get there: the Ancients would have come here by jumper, not left one lying around where curious locals might find it. Someone's going to have to walk. But John's expression tightens and Ronon wishes he could swallow back the words, because even though John _can't_ , he's not missing the part of him that would do anything to protect his team, get them home safe.

"That's plan B," John says, voice level. "What I want to say to you is, you've put down roots here. You're happy. You have real estate. If you don't want to give that up, if you want to stay, I'll stay with you."

This time Ronon holds his tongue until he has the right words. Once he'd woken up every morning knowing he'd die at the hands of the Wraith, and vowing to take as many of them as he could with him. He doesn't think he can do that anymore; he doesn't want to, and acknowledging that feels like the worst kind of betrayal of the Satedan people. Except that he's rebuilding Clan Dex, and he owes his people -- his family -- protection and loyalty. On this world, it's true, things are simpler. "A clan's not the house it lives in," he says finally.

John snorts. "Whither thou goest, I will go," he says, and waves off Ronon's annoyed stare. "Famous story about this woman and her mother-in-law." His forehead wrinkles, and Ronon's not sure -- never sure -- if John's just fucking with him. "Okay," John says, "Okay," and reaches for Ronon, catching his arm and tugging him closer. "Back rub."

John's changing the topic, and Ronon's fine with that. "What hurts?"

"Every fucking thing," John admits. Ronon thought, months ago, that John dealt pretty well with his losses. Except it turns out that John hoards what control he still has; it took him months to finally say that sometimes he's hurting or overwhelmed. Ronon respects that for John, in some fucked-up way, admitting pain is a more intimate act than sex. He thinks it's stupid, though, when he's here, and willing.

"So flip over," Ronon says, and they don't talk much after that. John directs, Ronon moves his hands to follow, and when John falls silent it's not a big surprise that he's asleep. Ronon finishes his sandwich and settles next to him for a nap of his own, until Rodney bellows for them to get back to work.

There's a buzz of tension in the air when they go inside, and Ronon knows Rodney and Teyla must have had a similar talk. Only in their case with a lot more feeling words, probably. It's like they've finally got permission to let themselves hope.

That night, Ronon's glad that he stole the chance to enjoy fresh air, because Rodney insists on putting their bedmats out indoors. He raises the possibility of enormous hairy insects, saying just because no one's seen any doesn't mean they're not lying in wait, and John shudders and backs him up.

Teyla makes Taa's bed inside the glassed-in observation gallery. She says it's to keep Rodney's tools and other dangerous temptations out of reach, and Ronon knows she worries the Outpost might someday sense Taa's Wraith genes and treat her as a threat. But Ronon also suspects Teyla and Rodney of ulterior motives, especially when they overlap all the adults' bedding to make one sleeping space.

"Oh hey," John says, pulling to a sudden stop when he sees. "Someone planning an orgy?"

Rodney opens his mouth, probably about to stick in a foot or two, but Teyla draws herself up and looks down at John, saying, "Is sharing love with the people who love you best wrong?"

John's jaw clenches, but when he speaks his voice is low and level, like a warning. "I can't be open like you want."

"We'll take what we can get," Rodney says. He sounds angry, maybe even bitter, but he's giving John a wry, knowing smile that, after a moment, John returns. "Any love is good love, right?"

"Stealing songs from Bachman-Turner Overdrive for your next album?" John asks, and Rodney's smile widens.

"Your iPod sucks," he informs John. "The closest thing to classical music you have is that pirate soundtrack Madison made you buy." He pauses, obviously startled at how easily all the names he's never let himself say slip out when he's with John. Ronon's never heard Rodney mention Jeannie or Madison, or even Jennifer, though he supposes Rodney'd turn to Teyla first. She's more comforting than he is. "Everyone here's repressing like hell. Except maybe for Ronon." Rodney twists around to raise a questioning eyebrow, and Ronon shrugs. Rodney nods as if vindicated and turns his glare back on John. "We don't want little pieces of your soul, Sheppard."

"Just my body?"

"That works," Rodney says, and pulls off his shirt decisively. He's wirier than he used to be, from a combination of nervousness and exercise, but his stomach sticks stubbornly out and he's unhealthily indoors-pale. Ronon thinks he's making a point with his own imperfect body. "Get comfortable."

John gives Ronon a look like he has no idea why he's letting himself be persuaded, but then he shrugs and asks for a hand down. Rodney watches John work his way out of his shirt and his shorts and then flop back on the bedding like a challenge. Ronon told Rodney and Teyla that John had sold sex, because he assumed that John wouldn't mind that they knew; John'd been open with him. But now he doesn't know if John knows that they know, if John ever spoke to them about what he'd had to do, or what Rodney thinks, or what Teyla does.

It's a big complicated mess, probably. So Ronon wraps himself around Rodney and unwraps Rodney's skirt, and Rodney fixes his mouth over Ronon's and kisses him until his knees go weak. Teyla says kissing's Rodney's superpower; Ronon wouldn't disagree.

He pulls Rodney down and lets himself be rolled until they bump up against John, who's not very patiently undressing Teyla while being kissed himself. Teyla raises herself up and grabs a handful of Ronon's hair, hauling him up until he's straddling Rodney and mouthing her neck. Rodney's complaints about his back abruptly go silent, and he twists between Ronon's thighs. Ronon looks down and sees John's eyes shut as he returns the kiss Rodney's giving him. Rodney's arm is slung possessively across John's chest, his hand curling to cover the scars where John's arm used to be.

"See?" Teyla says, sounding smug. "This is good."

John strokes down Rodney's side and doesn't deny it when Rodney accuses him of tickling. A struggle ensues, Rodney trying to hide behind Teyla, and John doubling up helpless with laughter, sandwiched between Ronon and Teyla. Teyla slides her hand between John's legs to pull Ronon's dick through, rubbing the head between John's balls, and suddenly their play has become sex, John's thighs closing and Ronon thrusting forward.

None of them like to lie back passively during sex; usually it's a lot more like sparring, competitive and rough, edged with desperation. Having John in the mix puts everyone off balance, trying too hard to be gentle with him until John snaps and flips Teyla around, pinning her and saying through gritted teeth, "I don't break _that_ easy."

Teyla grins up at him and tells him there are better things he can do with his mouth than complain. John gapes at her for a moment, like he _cannot believe_ Teyla said such a thing, and Teyla grabs a handful of his hair and shoves him encouragingly downwards. 

Teyla's the first and last to come; Ronon envies her, but he doesn't have any complaints. He's pushed over the edge by Rodney's mouth on his dick, and Teyla's hands pull his hair back so he can't move away from John, who kisses him through every wave of orgasm. Ronon loves that John's mouth tastes like Teyla. Ronon's limp and breathless when John and Teyla tag-team Rodney, but he's back in the game when it's John's turn to be touched all over, kisses covering his skin like rainfall, his greed for Ronon's fingers and Teyla's breasts indulged, his seed splattering over Rodney's hip while John presses his arm over his mouth to muffle a shout.

"Thanks for that," Rodney says, sounding grumpy even though he's smirking. "That's only sexy in porn, in real life it's sticky. Towel?"

Teyla reaches out one arm, muscles flexing as she stretches, and grabs a bag from the other side of the pillows. She takes out a square of cloth and hands it to him, face composed but laughter in her eyes as she watches Rodney clean himself fastidiously.

John's lying with his back to Ronon's chest, and Ronon thinks he's mostly asleep, but then John kicks Rodney in the knee and prompts, like they all do with Taa, "Say thank you."

Which is how Teyla gets her second orgasm, eventually.

They doze off sprawled over the bedmats, tangled together. Ronon half-wakes when Teyla gets up to go sleep with Taa, and again when the cold gets to him and he has to steal his blanket back from John. The next time he wakes there's light spilling through the propped-open door and the smell of brewing spice tea blowing in on the breeze. Ronon's alone in the bed, so he stretches his arms and legs out to all sides, arching his back and letting loose a loud yawn.

He doesn't usually get to sleep in. Most mornings he accompanies John to his workplace, because there's no trolley to make the trip easier, and then hits the markets to get food while it's fresh before heading over to the shop. He feels like he's being indulged with decadence, and he's not sure he deserves it. Ronon rolls to his feet and grabs his skirt, winding the cloth around his hips and knotting it as he walks out into the light.

His heart bangs hard against his ribs, sharp with the feeling of rightness, when he sees his team sitting around the portable cookstove. Rodney's right, they're all messed up, and having hope and a goal's just going to fuck them up more. But they've got each other, and they've got Ronon, who'll do anything for them. If Rodney wants him to walk to the polar station, he'll do that, and if John just wants backrubs, that's fine. Teyla needs him to take care of the endless small things; Ronon knows when she sings a part of her's back with her people, but assembling the machines and keeping the books just reminds her that she's trapped. Ronon gets that. He needs orders, himself, and he needs his family clan.

Rodney fills a teacup and offers it to Ronon without pausing in his argument -- it sounds like the whole portable battery cell debate again. Ronon takes his tea and asks Teyla to hand him the _imie_ cakes, which are flaky and warm. John's having a terrible time with his, even though someone broke it in half for him, but he's not as badly off as Taa, who has the mashed tuber filling smeared over her forehead up into her hair.

Ronon sits down on the ground next to John, who steals a sip of his tea and then says, "Next time you guys build a secret clubhouse, a shower would be super."

Rodney stops talking to give John a sour look. "I'll add that to my list, after --" he raises his fingers one by one for emphasis -- "re-inventing DHD technology, starting an industrial revolution, placating the lunatic aliens-among-us fringe with shiny baubles, and planning a polar expedition."

"And a sauna," John adds. "That'd be cool."

Teyla deftly refills Rodney's cup in time for him to gulp tea down in annoyance. "I hate you."

John's smug smirk, calculated to annoy, widens. "Not what you said last night."

Rodney's face goes red, and he points at Taa as if accusing John of corrupting her youth irreparably. John rolls his eyes.

"I missed this," Teyla says, sounding wistful. "If I closed my eyes I could almost believe...."

Ronon knows; so easy to imagine a cloaked jumper behind them, stocked with MREs and clean water, able to contact Atlantis with the press of a few buttons. So easy to imagine John rolling to his feet, stretching, hands moving in the ritual examination his weapons, making sure he's ready if they need to fight. Rodney less crushed by responsibility, even though he had a city to care for, not just five people. Teyla focused on her job, but anchored by the family that would welcome her home on the other side of the gate.

"Pretty good weather we've got," John says. It's an Earth way of changing the subject, and Rodney rolls his eyes. "Sky's blue."

"And the fluffy little clouds are white," Rodney scoffs. "So Teyla, is the grass over there any greener?"

Teyla knows they're joking, but studies the ground with exaggerated interest. "Perhaps."

Ronon thinks about pointing out that they all sound really dumb, but he kind of agrees with John. No sense dwelling on what they don't have. He reaches out and grabs the last _imie_ cake, taking a big bite out of it over Rodney and John's protests. But when Taa demands the rest, he hands it over without regret.

Things could be better, but Ronon thinks that'd be true anywhere. For all Taa may never fly beyond the limits of the brilliant blue sky, she won't grow up in fear of the Wraith or the Lucians. Ronon's not unhappy about that. He has a good life, a family and a home.

Together they have love, and that's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story about a year and a half ago. Mific beta'd it for me, and I was adding on the last part, and.... the story got stuck. Part of the reason was that I was writing terrible things happening at a time when terrible things were happening (we had an earthquake, and a nuclear meltdown). Another was that the actual file itself was cursed: I'd save it only to reopen and find that all my additions were gone, or every tenth word was mysteriously gone. And that happened three or four times, and then the file got lost when my computer died, and I had to go back to the copy that Mific had emailed me with her beta comments, which was ALSO mysteriously missing every tenth word. The story's been written and rewritten, over and over, and every time I started to rewrite I said to myself, "busaikko: this is the sequel to a sequel of a kinkmeme fill, and NO ONE CARES."
> 
> And then, just when my will to go on was gone, someone would ask, or someone would offer cupcakes, or send an emoticon my way. So, there's a story. It's imperfect and flawed, but I think all the words are there. The world ends and life goes on, the circle closes, and there is love. Not sure why it took me 14000 words and 18 months to say so....


End file.
